


stay

by ethotlliot (eggpainter)



Series: ethot’s dream and team x reader oneshots [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggpainter/pseuds/ethotlliot
Summary: i’m herebut don’t count on me to stay
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Reader
Series: ethot’s dream and team x reader oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181060
Comments: 36
Kudos: 172





	stay

**Author's Note:**

> lowkey song fic.
> 
> inspired by stay by post malone. 
> 
> srry if it’s confusing at first.

"Woah shit— get her water—"

"She alright?" 

"Fuck— is she okay—" 

The bass thumps, knocking my brain against my skull like a hammer to a nail, driving deeper into my subconscious. If you asked me how many drinks I've had, I'd have a simple answer for you: I don't know. I don't care.

"How much did she have to drink?" 

"I'm... not..." I mumble, fighting to blink my eyes open. There's hands on my waist, warm, firm.

I look and see my friend Harvey. Hi Harvey. He brought me to this party. I love Harvey.

"Open the fucking door—"

There's pounding, though it's not in my head. It's distinct, knuckles to wood, a demand to be let in. I look to watch a hand connect to a door, then watch as the door opens. There's a flood of harsh florescent light, and I close my eyes tight, throb in my head returning.

"Shit— I have— she dropped her keys— can you watch her?"

The hands I recognize leave my waist, replaced with bigger, warmer, firmer ones. There's another thud. I open my eyes again, and see the door is closed. Bye Harvey.

I wonder where— ugh my head hurts. I cough, then swallow bile. Did I throw up? I smack my lips. Oh ew, I definitely threw up. When? 

The hands on my waist tighten, then I hear a voice that halts me to a stop.

"I've got you. C'mon."

It's like a rush of freezing cold water that I'm fucking drowning in. 

I turn my eyes to look again, and see what I expect; what I know.

Clay.

The urge to sob wells in my throat. I decide I won't.

Instead, I surge forward, burying my face in his neck and inhaling like my life depends on it. It's saltwater and teakwood. Sturdy. Pulling. 

"You smell the same." I say, as coherent as possible, then breathe in again.

I hear a sigh. 

"You're really fucking drunk, aren't you?" He asks.

I shake my head no. "I'm not." I whine.

"I think you are." He says. Another sigh. "Same address?" 

I hesitate before nodding. Maybe I am drunk. I don't know.

"I'll drive you home." Clay says.

I make a noise. "You've been drinking, too." I say.

"No." He corrects. "I just got here, watched you throw up on the ground, then helped carry you to a bathroom. I haven't had time to drink." 

I whine, then open my eyes, looking around. He's right. This is a bathroom. This is a bathroom at a shitty house party that he just randomly happens to be at. 

Fuck. This sucks.

He must take my silence as hesitation, because he raises his hand, two fingers extended. 

"I'm sober." He says. "Scout's honor." 

This time, I nod.

I close my eyes to blink, then suddenly we're at my front door, my keys on the floor in front of me, my roommate standing in the doorway.

"Clay. You shouldn't be here." Ellie says, crossing her arms.

Hi Ellie. I love Ellie. 

"Wanna get Taco Bell?" I ask, bending over to pick up my keys from the floor.

Suddenly, I'm on the floor.

"Fuck." I hear, bitten out from Clay. "Just let me— let me—" 

There are those hands again. On me. Too familiar.

"Is she about to puke?" Ellie asks.

"I think so." I hear from Clay.

"I'm sorry." I whimper out, body jerking as I dry heave. 

There's motion, light, then something cold. I look up, and see a toilet. I got carried to the bathroom. 

Good call. 

I lurch forward, entire body jerking, shivering with the effort as I dry heave to absolutely no relief into the porcelain throne. 

A hand lands on my head, petting down the back of my hair. 

"I've got you. I'm right here." 

***

"I've got you. I'm right here." 

Lips brush down the back of my neck to my shoulder, sparking heat that travels from everywhere they connect.

"Higher, higher." I nearly whimper with how good Clay's hands feel on me, digging into my lower back, a little too low, though.

"Higher." I demand.

"Gimme a fuckin' second." Clay grumbles, adjusting to dig his fingers into the muscle higher on my back, massaging the tension away.

I moan as he makes contact, lost in the euphoria.

"You sound like you're getting fucked right now, babe." He says around a laugh.

I sigh, shivering again. "You wish." I remark, but smile into the pillow my face is mashed against as I feel his lips land on my shoulder again. His stubble tickles, almost.

I should ask him to shave.

***

I look up at Clay with bleary eyes, peeling my face from the toilet seat. I can feel the breath passing his lips, and feel his hand in my hair, but he feels like he's fucking miles away when I know the way his skin tastes under my tongue, and I know he knows the same. 

I look at Clay, look at his face, and remember his lips on my shoulder.

"You grew your beard out." I remark, then fold, finally emptying the contents of stomach directly onto his chest.

Fuck.

"Fuck." Says Clay.

"Sorry." I whine, trying to wipe my mouth, still heaving. "You can shower here— I still have your clothes. Some of them. You can shower and change." I say.

There's an affirmative grunt.

"Maybe a shower would do you some good, yourself." Clay says. 

I groan, back to hiding in the toilet. I get grabbed, and helped to standing. A hand that isn't mine lands on the bottom of my shirt, and starts to lift. I hit it away, then glare at Clay, venomous. 

"What?" He asks, sounding genuinely innocent. "Nothing I haven't seen a million fucking times." 

He laughs.

Fair point— plus— I fumble to get my shirt off, I'm eager to be rid of any evidence of tonight. I catch Clay staring.

"Don't even fucking think it." I bite out.

I don't wait for a response, stripping to nude, then turn the shower on and step in. I immediately slip, one foot in the tub. I dart my hand out to catch myself on the curtain. I miss.

There's the massive hand from earlier, curling around my waist. "I've got you. No worries." Comes from Clay's mouth with such ease.

I roll my eyes, and try to hide the hurt I'm feeling and expressing. Despite my desperation, it wells in my eyes and at the base of my throat, demanding to come out.

At this point, his hand doesn't need to be on me. I'm up. I'm standing. I'm going to tell him to stop.

The hand goes tighter, and suddenly we're flush, nude, pressing our bodies together under the the lukewarm spray of the shower. 

"Don't want you to fall." He says, and my head ducks in shame. 

Right. He's here because I'm drunk— and I'm drunk. I can feel it now, numbing my limbs, creeping into the edges of my mind. My face feels hot, whether it's from the alcohol or embarrassment, I couldn't tell you.

Something cold hits my skin. I shiver.

"Soap. It's soap." Clarifies Clay.

I whine. "What? What else would it be?" 

"I don't know." He mumbles. "I just thought I should tell you."

His hands start to move, spreading the soap across my body, everywhere, over to his. His hands are gentle, useful in their massiveness to spread soap more effectively. 

"Spin." 

***

"Spin." 

I laugh, then spin in a full 360, whipping Clay in the face with my wet hair as I go. 

He laughs back. "No, face me. Let me see those titties." 

I lift my hands to cover my breasts, then turn to face him, melting as the hot water from the shower cascades down my back. It feels good. 

Clay's hands lift, one each curling around my wrists and pulling them down. I don't have to look at his face to know what he's doing. I look anyways. He stares, lips slightly parted, then lifts a hand, cupping my breast.

"Having fun?" I ask.

"I'm just washing them." He says.

"Uh-huh." 

I smile, heat creeping along my skin from his touch. Whatever. It feels nice, at least. He can stare if he wants.

***

I turn to face Clay, hands tense at my sides.

His hand lifts, spreading soap across my breasts.

"Sorry. I'm just washing you." He says, then lifts his hand from my breast to my chest, up my neck, rubbing there.

Right. He's just washing me. 

"I know." 

Still, I fight to not cry for the rest of the shower. Until I'm rinsed, until the water is turned off, and Clay wraps me in a towel, until he lifts me, princess carries me into my room, sits me on the edge of my bed and stands back, staring.

"What?" I ask. The shower cleared my head, or maybe, it was the puking up everything I drank. "If you want clothes you know where they're at." I say.

Clay lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing, then turns into my closet. He goes straight to the drawer second from the bottom, and pulls a pair of his shorts. He steps into them, then grabs a hoodie of his as well, throwing it over his shoulder in lieu of putting it on.

"What do you want to wear?" He asks, turning to look at me me over his shoulder. "I bet that grey nightdress would be good."

I lift my knees, drawing them up to my chest.

"I donated that." I say.

I didn't, but, it's already dirty. I don't need him to know I wear it nearly every night, just because it makes me remember his hands on me, how excited he'd get when I wore it.

"Damn." He starts.

"I loved that dress."

***

"I love that dress."

I yelp, suddenly being being lifted. The yelp quickly turns into laughter, me scrambling with my hands to hold on tight.

"Please." I chastise around my laughter. "I look like a grandma." 

"Yeah?" Says Clay, adjusting his hands on me until he's holding me tight to his chest. "A sexy grandma, maybe." He says, then presses forward, burying his face in my neck.

His lips are warm, his tongue is hot. They both demand against my skin, loud enough that I tilt my head back to accept. 

"As long as you don't call me granny during sex." I say.

Clay breaks the kiss to pull back, looking at me and grinning. 

"Scouts honor." He says, then presses his face right back in. 

***

"Okay." I say. "You don't get to have an opinion on my dresses."

Clay tenses, lifting his hands in surrender. 

"Jeeze, fucking— sorry. What do you want, then?" He asks.

I squeeze my legs.

"I have a red one, now. I wear it a lot." 

I've never worn it. I hate the color.

"Red?" He questions, then immediately finds it. "Well, I'll be damned. Red." He pulls the dress, studying it like he can solve the universe with a dress, then turns, looking up at me.

"I thought you hated red— hated the way it looked with your undertones?" He asks.

"I changed my mind." I say, then extend my hand to take the dress from him. "Pass it—" As I go to stand, I sway on my feet, going light-headed.

Clay shoots forward. His arm wraps my waist again, steadying me before I can fall. I push out, trying to get away him.

"Get off of me—" I whimper, shoving at his chest.

He releases me, taking a step back. I grab the dress, then flop back to sitting.

"I got it." I say. "Fuck off."

I lift my arms, weak. I whine, struggling to try and get the dress above my head. Maybe my head didn't clear up as much as I thought it did.

Hands land on me again, helping me lift my arms. 

"Just let me help." Clay says.

I pout, but go limp. 

"Big man always needs his control, huh?" I ask, barely, feeling the words choke in my throat. 

Clay huffs a sigh of frustration, but silently continues, lifting my pliant arms and man-handling me into the dress. He takes too long pull the hem of it down, tracing down my hips with his thumbs, hesitating as he reaches my thighs.

I hope he doesn't think I don't notice. 

The second he doesn't have an excuse to touch me, he steps back. I hate that I immediately try to think of another way to get his hands on me. I shake the thought— try— to shake the thought.

Clay straightens up, then steps back, finally putting his hoodie on. He takes another step back, and I feel something in my chest, sharp.

"Anything else before I dip?" He asks, pointing over his shoulder. "You all good?" 

I nod, numb. 

Clay gives me a tight-lipped smile, one he'd give a stranger, then turns. 

The sharpness pierces deeper, cutting, splitting me from between my ribs to my heart. 

It hurts to breathe.

***

It hurts to breathe.

"Clay!" I shout, fighting my laughter, writhing and kicking from where he has me pinned. 

Despite my demands he continues, brushing with his fingers against my skin, dusting them down my sides, tickling me. I drag in another desperate breath, kicking my legs out, trying to get him off me. 

He laughs right back, moving his hands with practiced ease. He does this often.

"Beg!" He says to me, voice raised. "You want it to stop? You beg!" 

I whine, kicking at him with my legs, then arch to press our bodies flush. It doesn't get him to stop, but it does get him to falter, hands slowing to a crawl. I tilt my head back, swallowing rough. He follows, adjusting until he's on top of me and looking down. He adjusts further, leaning in, carefully slotting our mouths together. I melt into it, happy to taste and feel how soft his lips press to mine.

I smile into the kiss.

"You stopped. I win." I mumble.

"Oh yeah?" He says, then tries to pull back.

I lift my hands to his shoulders, holding him in place. "No, stay." I beg. 

He fights it, until he can pull back all the way, then looks down at me. He takes the opportunity to smile, then shoots forward, tickling with a renewed energy. I nearly scream.

***

I watch Clay take a single step out of the door.

"Stay." I whisper, and he freezes in his tracks.

He turns, just barely, looking back over his shoulder at me.

"You're drunk." He says, but turns closer toward me. "That's why you're saying that. You're drunk. " he says.

That might be true. That's likely true.

"Please." I whisper.

This time, Clay fully turns, taking a step toward me.

"I should leave." He mutters.

I look up at him through my lashes, bringing my hands together to twist them. 

"I want you to stay."

A noise slips from Clay. It's whined, desperate, almost frustrated. 

"Fuck." He says, then approaches the bed. "Make room." 

I comply, laying down and shifting to the side. He gets in the bed, then lays next to me, flat on his back. The second he lays down, he drags both of his hands down his face, before turning to look at me. He looks vulnerable, raw. I hesitate for moment, lifting to my elbow, then carefully settle, pressing my cheek to his chest and slinging my arm across his abdomen.

Clay's heart thumps in my ear. 

***

Clay's heart thumps in my ear. 

I suck my lower lip in, feeling my face flush with heat. I can't believe I'm actually this close with him. 

I twist my hand in his shirt, turning my face in, carefully inhaling so as to not get caught. He's always smelt like saltwater, but today there's something woody there, muddled only by the fresh smell of the grass we're laying in. 

The wind gusts against my face, cooling the heat of embarrassment, and Clay's arm cautiously lifts. It's my turn to have my heart thump as he curls his arm around my shoulders and holds tight. 

"That one looks like a fatass dog." Clay says.

I laugh, tilting my face up to look. He's pointing as a cloud. I grin, then point to the cloud next to it.

"That one looks like you." I say.

"No it doesn't." Clay says back.

"Yes it does." I retort.

"Are you sure you know what I look like?" He asks.

I lift from his chest, turning to stare him down, but find myself frozen. Our faces are right next to each other, lips close enough to almost brush. 

Clay's brow draws tight, then, before I can react, he lifts his hand to the back of my neck, guiding me in. 

My body goes numb as our lips connect. It's soft, gentle, but salty like the olives on the pizza we just ate for lunch.

Finally. My first kiss at sixteen, and it tastes like fucking olives. 

***

I twist my hand in the fabric of Clay's shirt, breath catching. I'm silent. Dead silent. Silent enough to hear my own thoughts. I hate how loud they are, a clashing cacophony of voices, some fighting me to press in, beg him to be with me again, the others screaming at me to pull back, run before he can seed at my heart, tangling his roots into my core and blooming inside of me like the fucking weed he—

His arm lifts, curling around my shoulders, hand landing on the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair. He pets, with his thumb, gently stroking at the base my neck.

My brain goes quiet, but my hands get even tighter.

"Your sheets changed." Clay says, quiet. 

I can hear his voice, rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah. I donated them." I say. This time it's the truth.

"Why?" He asks.

I lift from his chest, onto my elbows, staring him down in silence. He meets my eyes, unwavering as we hold eye contact. 

"I couldn't sleep in the sheets you fucked me on." 

His eyes finally disconnect from mine. He nods.

"Oh." He says.

I lower my head back to his chest, then shift, pressing closer, until I can bury my face back into his neck. I'm unashamed as I inhale, eyes fluttering shut.

Why does he still make me feel so fucking safe?

———

I wake up with a familiar burn at the bottom of my throat. I fly out of my bed, scrambling for the bathroom. I don't bother to flip the light on, collapsing to the floor on my knees.

I empty an already empty stomach, convulsing up just bile.

Once finished I wipe my mouth with my arm, pulling my phone from my pocket. I turn, sitting, resting with my back to the bathtub. 

I flinch as my phone comes to life in my palm, a bright 2:43 am glaring back at me in the pitch black of the bathroom. The last thing I remember is... getting to Zach's party at 9pm, then picking up a bottle of Ciroc and finishing it. 

I plant my hands to floor, trying to balance myself as I lift to standing. I limp to the sink, running it on full blast. I wash my hands first, then cup them, splashing my face with water. I keep them cupped, lifting palmfuls of water to my mouth. The first, I swish, and spit, washing out my mouth. The second, I drink. 

Finished, I walk back to my room, footsteps careful.

I get to the doorway of my room, eager to get back in bed, but freeze as I see movement.

Who—

The person in my bed turns again, rolling onto their back. My eyes adjust to the low light, and, I see their face just barely illuminated by the red glow of my alarm clock.

Memories from last night rush in.

"Clay?" I ask, to the quiet of the room, in disbelief.

He's sleeping on the wall side. He always sleeps on the wall side. 

"Hn?" The figure in my bed asks. "Yeah? What?"

My stomach drops as I hear the voice rumbling out those words, confirmation beyond a doubt that the man I thought was in my past is now in my bed. 

My heartbeat thuds in my ears, dull. 

"Why are you here?"

Clay sits up with a grunt. "You asked me to be." 

I fold my arms across my stomach, curling in on myself. 

"Did— did we—" I start, quiet.

"No." He interrupts. "We slept. You threw up at a party. I brought you home. Then, we slept."

Just slept?

"Just slept." He answers before I can ask.

"Okay." I say, desperately trying to piece together last night. 

"Are you coming back to bed?" Clay asks, startling me from the thought.

I flick my eyes up to look at him, even though his form is indistinct in the low light, I've memorized enough of him to infer. 

"I would. But you're in it." I say.

There's quiet for a moment.

"You kicking me out?" Clay asks.

Am I?

"I am." 

I have to steady myself, force myself to say the words. I could throw up again.

Clay sighs, pulling the blanket back, swinging his legs out the side of the bed. He pauses, sitting at the edge, to run his hands down his face, like he can scrub the sleep.

"Wouldn't be the first time." He says, mumbled, and I briefly question if I was meant to hear it. 

I take a step forward, anger flaming in my chest.

"You don't get get to say that." I spit, lifting a finger to stab at him. "You made this choice." Then: "God, I remember why I blocked your fucking number." 

Clay leans back, lifting his hands.

"Fine. Chill."

He sighs.

"I can leave." 

***

"I can leave." 

The words dance in my head like a taunt. I look up at Clay's face in disbelief, an absolute numbing hollowness settling into my core. 

I haven't ever felt this before.

I didn't think I ever would. 

I didn't think he would make me feel like this.

He promised he wouldn't.

Scouts honor, he said.

My body has leapt from the top of a building, falling toward the Earth infinitely, caught in suspension, hurling through the air as it whips across my skin, harsh enough to burn. It feels cold. 

But I haven't. I'm sitting right here.

I'm right here with Clay.

I look at my thigh, seeing his hand is spread there, holding on.

It's usually grounding.

I can't feel it.

"If you need some time to think. I can leave."

I look away from his hand, up to his face. 

I'm definitely breathing. Why does it feel like I'm not? 

"What?" I ask, with what breath I can spare, the rapid rise and fall of my stomach doing little to fight the tide of fear that's washing over me.

"Look. I know— I definitely know that I still love you, right?" He says, looking at me. "But I need to figure myself out, and being in the same relationship since high school isn't it. We can still be friends and—"

Despite the million times I've relived the day in my head, I can't remember what he said next. What I can remember is going still, crossing my arms around my chest, and holding tight. 

And I can remember the way he walked to the door in silence.

And I can remember that in my head I was begging, screaming, telling my body to move, to follow him to door, to drop to my knees and beg him not to do this. 

Maybe if I had begged, told him, 'no, don't leave me', instead of shut down like I always fucking do, he would've stayed.

But I didn't.

I sat on my couch. 

And I didn't move.

And I didn't cry. 

Until Ellie found me that night. 

I was sat in the same spot, expressionless, my arms wrapped around my chest tight, body completely rigid to hold myself up so I wouldn't collapse. 

Because I knew if I collapsed, I wouldn't get back up.

But she was there now, and she held me up as I crumbled, shushing me through sobs that racked my body, and stole the air from my lungs. 

And I remember telling her, that when Clay left me, he was wearing a grey long sleeve, with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. And right before he stood to leave, he leaned in, and pressed his lips to my forehead. 

I didn't feel it. 

But, with him close, I took another shallow breath, and my nose filled with the scent of saltwater and teakwood. 

It smelled like safety.

He was supposed to take care of me.

He promised.

Scouts honor.

He promised.

Maybe if I had begged—

And Ellie interrupted me, and said: "He can go fuck himself. Never beg for him. He's worth less than fucking dog shit." 

I agreed with her.

***

"No. Don't—" I start, breaking the silence of the room, a waver in my voice. 

Clay sighs. "I'm getting mixed signals here. You're kicking me out, but I can't leave?" He asks.

I run my hands down my face, taking a step back and a shuddered breath, collecting myself. Why did I say that? 

"Please." I whisper out. "Just— just fucking leave." 

Leave, before I beg you to stay.

Leave, before I have to feel it again.

Leave, before I peel back the layers of gauze and see the wound is just as fresh as the day you gave it to me.

Leave.

Leave me.

Clay stands from the bed, silently collecting his phone and keys. He walks by me, brushing past, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiate off of him. 

He turns down the hallway, toward the front door. 

I follow him out, just so I can lock the door once he's gone, sitting down on the couch to wait. I numbly watch him jump to put his shoes on.

"I'll uh— I'll get your clothes to you." I say, swallowing around my tongue.

Other words sit heavy in my throat, but that seems the most pressing to me. I can't believe I still have his fucking clothes. It's been months. 

But, every time I prepared a box for goodwill, and opened the drawer in my dresser that I set aside for him, I couldn't do it.

Clay walks up to the door, lifts his hand to the handle, turns it, then pauses, hesitating.

"Can I ask you something?" 

I blink up at him, hearing the words pass his lips.

"What?" I ask back, cold. 

He drops his hand from the door handle, turning to face me. 

"Could I have a kiss before I go?" 

***

"C'mon, could I please have a kiss before I go?" 

I turn my face further from my boyfriend, despite the smile tugging my lips.

"No. You ate my treats. I'm not kissing a treat thief." I say, still pretending to pout. 

I can't believe he ate my last ice cream bar. I was looking forward to it all day.

"Please." Clay continues to beg, walking in front of where I sit on the couch and leaning in. 

I lift my feet to kick him away, but he catches me at the ankles, holding tight, leaning in. 

"Baby, I have to go to work, just give me a—" He grunts as I kick him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 

I yelp, surprised I kicked him hard enough, finally breaking into a smile. 

He grins back, getting much more forceful, grabbing my legs and folding them up so he can crawl on top of me.

I thrash under him, giggling, trying to bat him away.

"I'm not leaving until I get my kiss." He coos, getting closer, grabbing at my waist. I bite my lip to fight my smile, involuntarily arching my body up toward him. 

Clay grabs my face, squishing my cheeks and holding me in place despite my fight.

"C'mon." He says. "Just one kiss. You don't want me to show up late and get fired, right?" He asks. 

I roll my eyes, but finally go limp, nodding. 

Clay presses in with his whole body, carefully slotting our mouths together. He smiles into the kiss as our lips press, careful, tender.

He pulls back to speak. "I always get my goodbye kiss with you." He says.

It's my turn to smile, lifting my hands to back of his neck and pulling him right back in for another kiss, tender enough I melt into the couch.

I should ask him to call in. I don't want him to leave. 

***

I take a heavy breath. 

"What?" I ask, as neutral as I can manage.

Clay steps toward me, like I said yes, walking up until he's standing in front of me. I tilt my head back, watching as he approaches, still frozen. 

He swallows. "I wanted— I just— could I kiss you? Before I go?" He asks again.

No.

Absolutely not. 

"Yeah." I murmur, then nod. "You can." 

Clay nods back, rapid. He lands his hand on the side of my face, cupping my jaw, his thumb firm on my cheek. He folds in half, leaning into me, while I stay stock still. 

His lips land on my forehead, soft, chaste.

I inhale again, feeling Clay's hand tense to hold me in place against his mouth. It must only last a second, before he pulls back, just barely, looking at me.

His thumb grazes along the length of my cheekbone, his eyes flicking across my face like a study. 

"I think I'll always love you."

***

"I will always love you."

I startle as I hear Clay sing along to the song, pulling back to look at him. He grins back, voice low, quiet, as he sings to just me.

"How I do—" 

I huff a laugh, tilting my face forward to bury it into his neck, carefully stepping with his movement, carpet soft below my bare feet.

Clay's hand cups my face, his thumb grazing the length of my cheekbone in a steady rhythm. His other hand is planted on my waist, holding us flush. We sway together, ignoring everything around us, focused on the music filtering through the speakers.

We're just in his bedroom. 

"I let go of a prayer for you—" 

I love his voice. How soft he can get it, how I can tell when he's talking to me, because he gets quieter, more hesitant.

He's all confidence, brashness, certainty, until it's me. Until he's looking at me.

I pull out of his neck, beaming up at him. He smiles back, tracing his thumb along my jaw, resting it on the corner of my lips, getting his hand around my waist even tighter, like he can't bear to let go.

And even though we're just in his bedroom, wearing cheap t-shirts, shuffling around, probably looking like stupid fucking teenagers to anyone that isn't us, I feel perfect.

I feel seen.

Here. 

In his bedroom.

He has me laid bare, his thumb brushing along my cheek, the lyrics to a Frank Ocean song passing his lips, and—

"Who put this shit on?" 

I jump as Clay's door swings open with a bang, and his older sister appears in the doorway.

We break apart, but he grins. 

"I did. I'm gonna kiss my girlfriend to it." Clay says, confident. "I know you wouldn't know anything about that because you've always been single but—"

I have to lift a hand to my face, covering my laugh. 

His sister steps forward into the room.

"Oh yeah?" She asks, then swings out, wrapping him in a chokehold. "I'm telling mom you're kissing in here." 

Clay shouts, and suddenly they collapse to the floor, a flurry of limbs as they rough-house. 

I break, laughing hard enough I collapse, sitting on the side on his bed, wiping tears with my sleeve. 

Looking down at my boyfriend as he punches his sister in the legs, I'm happy.

***

"You're crying." Clay says.

I rapidly blink at him, feeling he's right as the wetness sticks to my cheeks.

"Oh. I am." I say.

Clay huffs a laugh, lifting his thumb to wipe the corner of my eye. It quickly turns into him just brushing his thumb along my cheek again, a tenderness I found hardest to forget.

I jerk my face away from the touch.

"Don't do that." I say, averting my eyes.

"But— you used to love it—" Clay says, quiet.

"Not anymore." I respond, staring at the wall, unable to focus my eyes on him.

"Okay." Clay says, and cups my chin, tilting my face back toward his, until I'm forced to look up into his eyes.

He drags his thumb down my lips, just slightly parting them. He leans in, close, until our breath is shared, my own breath caught in my throat.

"Do you still like this?" He asks, then presses our lips together, feather-soft.

I want to keep my eyes open, but I can't. They flutter shut, involuntarily, a whine passing my lips as Clay pulls back.

He presses another kiss, and I stay pliant, letting him.

I hate how much I can remember, how much is the same, and how much is different. 

Clay's tongue pushes out, swiping my lower lip. I know he's going to push it into my mouth, next. It's how he always does it. I let my jaw relax, opening my mouth to make room for it. He smiles into the kiss.

"I forgot how good it feels to kiss you. You know me better than anyone." He murmurs.

The fuzz blanketing my brain starts to fade as his tongue pushes into my mouth. How good it feels to kiss me— which— he's—

He's been kissing people that aren't me, and I knew that, in a way, but—

It's like a kick in the stomach.

I lift my hands to his chest, twisting them in his shirt, and push back, breaking the kiss. He whines, chasing it. I take a shuddered breath, tempted to give in, but stay firm, pushing away from him.

This time, he gives up, standing up and taking a step back until there's space between us. 

I look up at him, and despite the hurt hollowing me out, I speak. 

"I do still like that. I remember that. You're a good kisser." I tilt my head, staring at him. "Do the new girls you're fucking agree? I know I taught you a lot." 

I pause before my next statement.

"If you fuck me tonight will it be different? Did you learn anything new?" I say it just to hurt myself.

Clay inhales, sharp, opening his mouth—

"Don't answer— don't answer that." I interrupt, out of some sense of self-preservation. I'm glad I still have... something. 

I look down, pulling my phone back out, staring at the time and lack of notifications. It's... really the middle of the night. Good choices don't happen in the middle of the night.

I look back up at Clay, blinking, then sigh. "You don't have to go. You can stay. I don't—" this isn't true, "I don't really care what you do, but, it's late. I'd feel bad if something happened because I forced you to drive home in the middle of the night."

I'm not a good liar, but that was convincing. 

Clay nods, then sucks his teeth. "No I— I think you were right. I should probably go home." He says.

"Why?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

He blows a breath, turning to look down my empty hallway. 

"You're not— you're not particularly sober. And, with you, I'm not particularly strong." 

He inhales, then turns to look at me again. 

"So I need to leave, get the fuck away from— the bed I'm thinking about fucking you in, before we— do something that's going to hurt both of us." 

That's... true enough. 

I look up at him.

"Can I come with you, then?" I ask before I can stop myself, then lower my eyes.

Clay makes a noise. "Yeah. I'd love that." He says.

I swallow my pride, then stand up. I stumble as I do so, knocking a metal water bottle to the floor. It clangs, and I laugh. Clay laughs back, bending over to pick it up for me.

By the time I get to my shoes, Ellie's door opens, and she walks out into the living room.

I tuck my chin into my chest, embarrassed.

"Sorry about the noise." I mumble.

"That's okay, hon." Ellie mumbles back, then turns to Clay. "Don't you think it's time you got the fuck out of here?" 

Clay lifts his hands in surrender. "We're leaving right now." 

"We're?" Ellie questions, taking a step toward him.

I get close to her, landing my hands on her arm. 

"Clay and I are gonna go for a drive." I say, trying to soothe.

"You're not— sober." She says.

"I'm sober enough." I say back.

Ellie looks at me, and I know I'm fucking up. 

I know.

But it's the first time I've felt like I could breathe in six months and the air smells like saltwater and teakwood and maybe there exists a reality in which I don't have to forget what it felt like to be loved.

Maybe Clay can say something that will fix it, nullify the months of hurt.

Maybe.

"Fucking whatever." Says Ellie. "Fuck this. I'm going to bed." She turns to walk away. 

I watch her go, until she's back in her room and her door is shut behind her. 

"Ready?" Clay asks.

I startle, turning to look at him, then nod, grabbing my bag from my table.

"Okay." He says, then opens my front door. "After you." 

Stepping out feels final, but I do it anyways. Crossing the threshold into the hallway settles an ache in my chest that's spent months to bloom. We walk out to the parking lot together, arms brushing as we stay side by side. I scan the lot for a silver Mustang, startling in surprise when Clay walks up to a black Camaro.

I laugh at him for it. 

"What the fuck is that?" I ask.

"New car." He says, like I don't get that much.

I whistle, low, running my fingers along the hood.

"Looks expensive." 

"It wasn't too bad." He says, then opens my door for me. 

"Chivalrous." I tease. "Just like when you broke up with me." 

Clay makes a noise, and I close the door in his face. I grimace at the distinct smell of car air freshener, and look up to see a tacky little black ice tree dangling from the mirror. 

I lift my hand to it, and tug, snapping at the elastic. 

I hate that it covers up the smell of him.

Clay enters the driver's side with a grunt, and I briefly forget to have shame.

"Aux?" I ask.

He grins at me. "Yeah." He says, then digs in the console, threading a cord toward me.

I reach for it with grabby hands, plugging it into my phone. Clay laughs at my excitement, starting the car, just so he can turn the radio on. I open Spotify, and his hand reaches over, landing on my thigh like instinct.

I freeze, staring at it, breath caught in my throat.

***

Clay's hand lands on my thigh, and I freeze. 

"I like that one!" He coos, tapping his other hand to the window of his car.

I'm trying to pay attention to what he's saying, but the only thing I can focus on is his hand on my thigh. He's never done this before. I don't even know if he'd noticed that he's doing it. 

"Baby?" He asks, turning to look at me, excitement clear in his expression.

He follows my eyes down, to his hand on me, then freezes himself. After a moment, he moves, brushing against my thigh with his thumb, only holding firmer.

"I don't like that one. I don't like the color." I mumble, finally responding to what he said earlier.

He protests. "What? I love the blue! You don't like the blue?" 

He turns to look at me, and I shake my head no. 

Cautiously, I lift my hand and plant it on top of his, threading our fingers together. I watch as his head tilts down again, just so he can look at it.

I keep looking out the window, just as we pass a massive white house with a wrap-around porch. 

"Ooh! That one!" I coo out.

"That one?" Clay asks back. "Seriously?" He turns to look at me. I nod, rapid.

"You think we'll be rich enough for a house like that?" He asks, then laughs. 

I crane my neck back, just to look at the house again. It looks... expensive, but not impossible. Before I can say something, the radio switches to 'Sweet to Me', and my focus changes. I turn the radio up, a smile warping my face as I start to poorly sing along.

Clay doesn't seem to mind, looking over just to beam a smile, singing just as poorly with me. 

***

"Sorry— is— is it okay if I—" Clay starts, mumbled, tightening his grip on my thigh. 

I look up, waiting for him to meet my eyes, then nod. He blows a breath, nodding back, and cranks the wheel to reverse. I use the aux to play 'Sweet to Me'.

Clay drives us in relative silence, cruising down the neighborhood street five-below the speed limit, like he has all the time in the world. We don't make it far.

"You hungry?" He asks, squeezing me again.

I mhm, then he turns the car.

He navigates this with ease, a trip we've only made a million fucking times together, straight to the drive through. He orders food for him, looks at me, grins, then orders my regular. 

As he pulls to the next window, he turns to me and grins again. 

"I know that didn't change. Burger and a shake. Always." He says.

I blink at him, tilting my head back. "I'm vegetarian now." I say back.

The smile wipes from his face, a briefly panicked look overtaking his expression. I break fast, bursting into laughter. 

"I'm fucking with you. Order's right." I say.

Clay squints at me, just as the window opens and a bag is pushed out and into his hands. He passes it to me. I dive in, taking one of his fries for myself, then, on instinct, like it's a muscle memory, lift one over to him.

As soon as I realize what I'm doing, I freeze, embarrassed. 

He eyes me for just a second, before he pushes forward, snapping his teeth down on the fry. 

I smile. "You you want me to play the Jaws theme?" 

***

"Play the Jaws theme." Clay says, grabbing his seat adjustment, moving his chair all the way back, then dropping into a laying position.

"What are you fucking doing?" I ask around my laughter, stealing another of his fries for myself.

"I want to eat laying down, is that so bad?" He says, then opens his mouth and keeps it open.

I stare down at him, partially out of disbelief, unmoving. 

He turns to look at me. "Play the Jaws theme and drop fries into my mouth or you don't love me."

I huff a laugh, but comply with both requests, dangling fries above his face so he can lean up to bite them hard enough his teeth click together.

***

"More." Clay demands, then opens his mouth.

I roll my eyes, snagging another fry and lifting it to him.

"Patience." I chastise.

Still, I feed him his food. 

It takes a minute, but I eventually notice I have no clue where we are. 

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Nowhere, really." Clay responds, taking a seemingly random turn.

I settle into my seat. "Yeah? Are you talking about the drive or us?" I ask.

Clay makes a noise, turning to glare at me. "I'm talking about the fucking drive what is this—" he pauses to take a shuddered breath. "That's not—" 

"Is it not?" I ask , quick.

"I didn't—" He starts again.

I interrupt. "You didn't?"

Clay huffs a sigh, then pulls his hand back, punching his steering wheel hard enough I flinch. I watch him, something akin to surprise warping my expression. 

The street lights pass over his face, illuminating pieces of him for only brief moments. The rest of the time he's swamped in black-blue, barely visible to me.

"I don't want us to be going nowhere." He says, his voice hard, but wavering.

He comes back in, softer. 

"I never stopped loving you. Never. I didn't even— I didn't even make it a month before it—" He pauses, taking a shuddered breath, and I remember to breathe, myself. 

"I kissed another girl." He admits. "A week after we broke up. I was at a party. I kissed another girl and all I could think was 'she tastes different' and it wasn't a bad different it just wasn't— you— different. She wasn't mine." 

There's silence for a moment, drawn out, until we pull up to a stoplight, and he turns to look at me. The red glow from the light illuminates his face as he speaks.

"But you're mine. You were. I wish you would be, again." 

***

'Will You Be Mine?'

The glitter falling from the handmade card falls loose, shaking from the thick construction paper. I look at it, too-big in my too-little-hands, then look up at an honest Clay. He can't hold eye-contact, his hands balled to fists at his sides. 

"No." I say, then pass the card back to him. "Boys have cooties."

But when I go home and my mom finds the glitter speckling my dress, she asks about it. I tell her that at school, during art, Clay asked me to be his valentine. 

She smiled.

***

"Didn't taste like yours? What do I taste like? Do I have a flavor?" I ask, around my laughter.

Clay nods, looking much more serious that I expect. He lifts his fingers, rubbing them together. 

"It's like a combination of that gum and the fucking— that stupid blue-ass chapstick. I swear." He says.

I squint at him, concerned. "Okay chef. Oh do I detect a hint of Blistex? Mayhaps some watermelon gum?" I tease. It's stupid, but it's the most relaxed I've felt tonight. 

"Blistex!" He shouts, like it's a eureka moment. "Fucking Blistex." 

I laugh, opening up my bag. I grab my chapstick and put it on, then grab a piece of watermelon Extra and put it in my mouth. 

"There. Now I'm flavorful." I hold the gum toward him. "Want some?" 

He half turns to me, then reaches out, but not for the gum. He opens his center console, and pulls the same pack of gum.

"No thanks." He says, taking a piece. "I've got my own." 

I start to laugh at him, but it's cut in my throat as the car jumps, briefly knocking the air from my lungs. 

We're on gravel.

***

"We're on gravel!"

I barely have a chance to shout in excitement, before Clay's excessive speed catches up to us. The car weaves, and his hands grip the wheel tight. He does his best to make sure we don't ditch as we tail spin.

I scream, landing my hands on his arm and digging in with my nails, holding on until we creak to a stop.

"TIME!" Shouts Clay.

I roll my eyes, in disbelief that he's still concerned with that, heart thudding in my throat

Still, I lift my phone. "Five minutes three seconds!" I yelp seeing the time.

Clay whoops, punching his wheel with quick rapid strikes. "THAT'S MY NEW RECORD BABY!"

I laugh, landing my hand on his collar and pulling him toward me, leaning into his space. He makes a brief noise of surprise as I crash our mouths together, but catches on quick, smiling against my lips, pressing into the kiss with his whole body. 

I take my time to kiss him, then pull back. 

He leans after me, trying to chase. 

"I'm proud of you baby." I say, and feel him puff up in my hands. "But I bet you could find gravel quicker than that." 

For that, Clay fully leans back into his seat.

"Yeah?" He asks, softness melting from his face to form a cocky grin. 

"Yeah." I coo back.

His hand drops, and we shift back into gear. 

"Bet." He says, then revs his engine, peeling out on the loose gravel. 

I shout in excitement, happy as long as I'm next to him. 

***

"Wow? You already found gravel? Impressive." I say, and feel Clay's hand tighten on my thigh.

"Yeah. I've been practicing." He says.

"With your new bitches?" I ask, before I can stop. 

Clay sighs, agitated, hand on the wheel starting to white knuckle.

"No. I told you." He turns to glance. "No one since you." 

I curl in on myself, feeling ashamed, then squeeze his hand where it rests on my thigh. 

We only have a moment of silence, before he breaks it.

"Woah, look at that." I hear from Clay, then his knuckles rapping against the glass of his window. "They still have Christmas lights up in March."

I lean in toward him, trying to see the house in question. I grin once I see it, a smallish house, green paint, wrapped in holiday lights. I huff a laugh, then then turn to look at Clay. 

My cheek brushes his shoulder.

***

"Put your head on my shoulder—" Clay sings out, low, drawled.

I laugh as he sings along to the song playing, but listen to it like a command, dropping my head to rest on his shoulder, rubbing against it with my cheek.

Clay makes a pleased noise, slowly stroking my thigh with his thumb. 

I look out the front windshield, eyes flicking across the night sky.

"The moon's huge." I comment, caught staring at it. 

"Yeah." Clay says, then goes right back to singing.

I rub with my cheek again. "Do you think we could catch it driving straight at it?"

Clay laughs, turning his face into mine and pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

"We can try." He says, then gasses it just a bit harder.

I smile, happy to be entertained like this

He drives me until sunrise. 

We never catch up to the moon.

***

I lean further into the motion, allowing myself to drop my head to Clay's shoulder. 

He takes a sharp breath as I do so, hand twitching where it's held.

I shift my head on his shoulder so I can look up and see his face. I find him smiling, soft, illuminated now by the moonlight in such a way I could see the red climbing his cheeks.

***

I can see a red flush climbing across Clay's face, but I have no idea why. 

I look at him, illuminated by the moon and nothing else, his legs hanging off the dock into the lake. I keep mine pulled up, tight to my chest.

It smells like bug spray, lake water, and two sunburnt kids slathered in the aloe vera his mom was smart enough to bring.

I also don't understand why he asked me to meet him here. All we've done is sit.

"Look." Says Clay, pointing out at the water.

I turn to look, trying my best to follow his line of sight.

"The moon's in the lake." He says, and I finally notice the reflection of it, disturbed only by the gentle sway of the water.

"S'pretty." I say, dropping my chin to my knees. 

"I'll race you to it!" Clay shouts, then shoots up and jumps off the dock into the water with enough force I'm splashed. 

I yelp in surprise, but warp into a smile and shoot up myself.

"That's not fair! You had a head start!" I shout back, but jump in nevertheless. 

I shiver as I plunge into the cool water, angry sunburns soothed as the waves lap at my skin.

Then, I start to swim as fast as I can.

***

The car jerks to a park, and I'm startled from my thoughts. 

I lift my head from Clay's shoulder, barely able to see him in the minimal light, confused. He turns toward me.

"Can we talk?" He asks.

I sigh, feeling myself stiffen up. "We've been talking." 

"About us." He says.

"What about us? 'Us' is done. You broke up with me." 

Clay lets out a frustrated sigh, low enough that it's nearly growled, staring me down.

***

Clay growls in frustration, throwing his headset to his desk with a bang.

"Fuck this fucking test." Is all he says, then storms out of the room. 

I lift, sitting up from where I was laying on his bed to look at his screen. He's only half-way done with this test, and he has thirty minutes left.

He needs to pass this class to graduate. 

I spring to my feet following him out, looking for him. 

I find him in the kitchen, standing at a counter with both of his hands planted on it, jaw clenched tight enough it looks like it hurts. I approach from behind, plastering myself to his back and snaking my arms around his waist. I rub my cheek to his shoulder, quiet until I hear him blow out a sigh, some of the tension relaxing from his body. 

"I'd like if you went back and finished it, at least." I mumble, careful with my words. 

"Do I have to?" He asks.

I tighten my hands, balling them in the fabric of his shirt.

"No. But it would make me happy." I mumble back.

He blows another sigh, then lifts from the counter, landing his hand on top of the one I've planted to his stomach.

"Fine." He says. "I'll do it. For you." 

I wrap my arms tighter, beaming where my face is pressed to his back. 

"I'm so proud of you." I say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder over the fabric. "Good luck. Give 'em hell."

***

"That's not—" Clay starts.

I interrupt. "What else is there to fucking say, Clay?"

I mean.

A lot.

Actually.

"I don't—" Clay starts again, voice breaking on the last syllable. It finally gets me to fall silent, antagonistic words caught in my throat.

He takes a steadying breath.

"I don't go a day without thinking about you. I hate the— the distance— that I fucking created, I know— but I hate the distance between us. I just want you back so fucking bad." His words are whined.

Me too. 

I want you too, but I—

"You left me." I mutter, quiet, shifting further away from him.

"I know. I know." He says, twisting his hand in his lap. "I know I fucked up, and fucked us up, and fucked you up. I know. But, please. Give me a second shot. I'm a lot different now. I'll do better— I'm not— I don't—" He tapers off on another broken syllable, words choked in his throat. 

I pause, body feeling numb.

"Did you come to the party tonight just to find me?" 

"Yes." He admits, no hesitation. "I know you have me— blocked on everything so I— heard you'd be there from a friend of a friend and I— was hoping I'd find you'd and we'd talk there but— you were already so drunk—" 

We fall into silence after, the only thing audible is the night wind beating against the car combined with our heavy breaths. 

A second shot?

Fuck.

Don't do this. 

Say no.

"Do I have to answer right now?" I ask.

"No— no. You don't. You can— can think on it." Clay says back.

I nod, finally looking up from my lap, back to the sky through his windshield. 

"Moon's huge tonight." I say, then turn to look at him. "I'm gonna go look at it." 

I open my door, then step out, walking out into the ditch we're parked next to. I stride through, blind, cutting into the edge of trees, until I find a flat patch of grass. I flop to my back, adjusting until I'm looking up at the sky, with a view of the moon through the leaves above me. 

Clay arrives after a moment, silently dropping down to sit next to me. But, he doesn't lay. I hear a noise and look at him, bolting upright when I see he's drinking my milkshake. 

"Hey—" I yelp, grabbing at it. "Thief!"

He chuckles, keeping it just out of my reach.

I pout, nearly crawling on top of him, grabbing at it. I land my hand on it, and grip down. He grips down tighter, laughing at my struggle. Suddenly, the lid pops off, and with both of us squeezing, a small amount of the shake spills over onto our hands. 

I laugh, retracting with the shake, lifting my hand to my mouth to toss my gum, then lick my fingers clean. Clay does the same, I assume, because he stops trying to steal my shake. I pop the lid back on, then stare up at him, smiling around the straw as I drink. 

Clay's eyes flicks down my face, but he's smiling back. 

"You got—" He starts, then leans in, pressing his thumb to my cheek, wiping with it.

***

"Oh my God— you got—" Clay says. I laugh as he leans in toward me, lifting my arm. He runs the length of it with his mouth, following the ice cream that's melting down my arm.

We had the genius idea on to stop for ice cream on our walk.

But the unrelenting Florida sun is melting mine faster than I can eat it.

"Just hurry up and eat it—" Clay chastises.

I laugh again, near hysteria. "I'm trying! You don't think I'm trying! I'm human, not an ice cream eating machine—" 

Clay shakes his head. 

"You're eating this slower than a toddler would." He teases.

I roll my eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry master! I'm so sorry! I promise I'll eat faster!" I coo, then lift my ice cream and lick it at a pace rapid enough my brain freezes.

"Good." Says Clay, watching me with a smile as I grimace and squint through the pain.

***

"You made it spill on purpose." I say looking up at him.

He smiles, licks his thumb, then wipes my cheek again. "That'd be pretty clever." 

I scrunch my nose up at him, tilting my face away from his touch, taking another massive drink of my milkshake. 

When I pull off the straw, Clay laughs. 

"You got—" He starts again, then stares down at me, dragging his tongue along his lower lip.

I try to lick my lip, looking up at him in earnest. 

"Did I get it?" I ask.

He shakes his head, and I stick my tongue out again. 

"Lower— to the left— my left— just a little more— too much— okay up— no not—" Clay sighs in frustration, shaking his head at me. "I'll get it." He mumbles, then leans in, lips parted. 

I tilt my face into it, patiently waiting as his tongue swipes across my lip. It's chased by soft kiss, a kiss that almost feels hesitant. 

It feels right. It feels like exactly what I've been missing.

And for a second, it feels like he never stopped loving me.

Clay pulls back quicker than I want him to.

"Man, that fucking Blistex." He says, chuckling. "Very distinct." 

I purse my lips at him, lifting my brows, then lower to sip my milkshake again before I say something stupid like 'I love you, Clay.' 

I finish the shake in one go, drop the empty container to my side, then flop onto my back again. Clay follows.

As I stare up at the moon and stars, I feel eyes on me. 

I turn to look, and see Clay is staring, unabashed.

"Need something?" I ask.

He smiles, then turns his head up to the sky. He lifts an arm, pointing along the stars, tracing a shape with his fingers. 

***

I press my face further into Clay's stomach, holding his arm tight as I trace shapes between his freckles with my fingers. 

"I bet I could make a cat doing connect the dots." I mumble, dragging the edge of my fingernail from freckle to freckle, trying to find my path.

"Oh yeah? I doubt that." He says.

"I already did." I remark, copying the shape.

Clay cranes his neck, just to watch me do so. Once I'm done, I beam up at him. He quirks a brow.

"I don't see it." He remarks.

I pout at him, then get out of bed despite his protests. I walk straight to his desk, grab a pen, then come back to bed. This time, as I trace the freckles, I drag along his skin with a ball point pen, leaving a black line that shows the cat.

It's uglier than I expected, but it's definitely still a cat. 

"I'll be damned." Clay laughs as I finish. "A cat."

***

"Reminds me of you." Clay mumbles, repeating tracing the shape in the sky.

I huff a laugh. "Fuck off." 

Still, I lean into his space, laying my head on his stomach, grabbing at his arm. I find where I used to draw the cat, and trace the same line with my fingers. I have it memorized.

"Oh, the cat." Clay says around his laugh. "Y'know I thought about getting it tattooed." 

I open my mouth to tell him off, tell him to never fucking do that, but before I can, my phone rings, clear, echoing in the clearing. I pull it from my pocket, see Ellie's name, then sit up and answer.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Are you alright? It's been like— a few hours. I don't want Clay to like— take advantage— or— or something." Ellie says, worry apparent in her voice.

I smile, warmth blooming in my chest that she cares.

"Yeah. No worries. I'm alright." I say, then tilt my head back, looking at the stars again. 

There's a certain tint to the sky. The before twilight-twilight. 

I should probably go home. 

"I'll be home soon. Stop worrying." I say.

I hear Ellie sigh. "Okay. Love you. Bye." 

"Love you. Bye." I say back, then hang up the call.

I turn to look at Clay, afraid to ask, but it seems like he already knows the question.

"Time's up?" He asks.

"Yeah." I say back, worrying my lip. 

He's the first to stand, springing to his feet with a hup, then stretching out. I follow him up, grabbing my empty cup, and shaking it. We start the walk back into his car in silence.

My foot catches on the soft soil, and I trip, twisting my ankle.

"Woah are you—" Clay starts.

"Ow." I say, simple, trying to shake the fuzz in my head. I guess I'm still a little drunk. 

Clay helps me get back to standing, then I bat him off. 

"I'm good, I'm good." I say, despite the sharp pang I feel with every step. 

I close the distance to his car, limping, relieved when I get in. This time, I grab the aux, unabashed. 

Clay gets in next, smiling when he sees me on my phone.

"What're you gonna—" Is all he gets out, before I tap, and the speakers come to life, 'White Ferrari' playing over them. 

Clay rolls his eyes, but slowly, surely, sings along for me, grinning, replacing 'white ferrari' with 'black camaro'. It makes me roll my eyes, but I can't stop the smile that splits my face.

"You know." I speak, as the song plays. "This was my go—to when we broke up." I say.

I'm only able to look at Clay for a little longer, eventually turning my eyes down to my lap. 

Sometimes, right as the song ends, and the final few lines play, harmonizing in my head, I can remember the ache, the want to be loved, and how desperately I wanted him back.

I look up at him.

Want him back. I guess.

Fuck.

"Especially this part. Shit hurts. Reminds me so much of you." I say.

Clay nods, carefully listening to the lyrics, until the song ends and we're thrust back into silence. We drown in it, for just a moment. I feel too fragile to the go the next song, afraid to crush the hope that's seeding as his fingers press into the soft dip of my thigh.

"It's a beautiful song." He mumbles. "I hope I can recontextualize it. I don't— I don't want to you to hurt anymore. I never wanted you to hurt." 

I look up at him, breath caught in my throat, and—

I believe him.

Maybe that's stupid of me. 

"You wanna pick the next song?" I ask, just so I don't have to respond.

He grins. "Play Stay by Post Malone." He says it like he's thought of it all night.

I roll my eyes as I make the selection, bracing myself to be sung to. 

It's easy to lose myself in this moment of time, forgetting there's a place I have to return to, where I'm not next to Clay, in his car, in his hands, feeling like I'm returning to the person I once was, who I thought I'd be. 

We turn down the street my apartment is on, and my stomach drops. 

Clay sees it too, and slows, until he's nearly crawling along the street, trying to drag this out.

We're both silent, tense in a way that feels like we're marching to our death. I'm numb until we pull up to the front entrance, and Clay shifts into park. We both sit, breathing, trying to process what just happened. 

I land my hand on my door handle. 

"Well—" I start, as Clay simultaneously speaks, "I was—"

We both stop, staring at each other.

"You first." He says, tilting his chin toward me. 

I laugh. "I was just going to say 'well, bye' then leave." 

"Oh." Clay huffs a laugh back. "Bye." He looks at me for a moment, then speaks. "I love you." 

I stare back, blinking. 

"Yeah. You would say that." I say, then swing my legs out of the car.

I guess this is it for now. I guess that's enough for now, I didn't expect—

Ow, ow, ow—

I whine, stumbling as I lift to my feet, noticing my ankle is throbbing in pain. 

"What? You alright? Step on something?" Clay asks, leaning toward me. 

I shake my head, lifting my leg. 

"I think I twisted my ankle it— it's fine." I say, then turn to look at my apartment, the stairs seeming like an even more daunting task. 

I steady myself, take a single step toward the stairs, then cry out, nearly dropping to my knees.

Holy fuck that hurts.

I hear movement, clicking, then Clay's door slamming shut. He appears in front of me, hands landing on my waist.

I want to fight it.

Instead, I go lax, melting into his touch.

"I've got you." He says, threading his arms around me and lifting me into a princess carry. "I'll get you inside. Not the first time I've carried you home in the past twelve hours." 

I huff, turning my face into his shoulder at the bend of his neck. Knowing I'm about to go home, I inhale for good effort, dragging the smell of that stupid saltwater and teakwood into my lungs for what feels like the first time. 

There's something else there.

I flutter my eyes shut, taking another heavy inhale, trying to pinpoint it as Clay carries me up the stairs. 

It's not quite grass, or the night wind. It isn't fast food and it isn't me. It's something new, uniquely him. It's something softer.

Before I can figure it out, I hear the door open. 

I turn, opening my eyes just in time to watch as Clay crosses the threshold into my apartment, carrying me in.

***

Clay carries me across the threshold into my apartment. My first apartment.

I laugh, bright. 

"We did it! We made it to college!" 

"You made it to college." He clarifies, then walks backwards out of the apartment, only to cross the threshold, walking right back in.

"What are you doing?" I ask, laughing.

He grins. "Practicing." He says, then backs out again.

"For what?" I ask.

"For the future. One day, I'm gonna buy you a house, and I'm gonna carry you in just like this." He looks at me, proud. "So, I'm practicing."

My heart thumps, warmth blooming in my chest. Sometimes, I have no idea what to expect from him. No matter how long we've been together he still knows how to give me butterflies, surprise me.

But I do know that this feels sure.

He feels sure.

He'll always love me.

"Please." I chastise, rolling my eyes. "You mean one day when I buy us a house." 

He laughs. "Tomayto—tomahto." 

***

Clay drops me to my feet, careful. I have to dart a hand out to the couch, supporting myself as I stand on one leg. He takes a step backwards, until he's hovering in the doorway. 

"You uh— you have my number right?" 

I roll my eyes back, fighting tears, then recite his number from memory. 

"But don't think I didn't delete it." I say.

He laughs. "Yeah, that's fair." He pauses to collect himself. 

"Do you think we're going to be okay?" He asks, voice raw, looking up at me with an expression I've never seen on him before. 

I swallow.

"I don't know." I start. "Just— call me in the morning. When I'm sober." 

Clay nods, backing out of my apartment. 

"'Night." He says.

"G'night, Clay." I say back, closing the door in his face, aware of the fact that he's watching me the entire time.

I pause, staring at the door, hand on the doorknob, breaths getting tighter, then click the lock shut.


End file.
